


Anything Can Happen On Any Given Night

by Telesilla



Series: A Season of Extremely Unlikely Events [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Accidental Outing, Baseball, Celebratory Kiss, Community: trope_bingo, M/M, Schmoop, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, based on fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hunter Pence is a big damn hero, Brandon Belt is along for the ride (except in bed) and there's excessive celebration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything Can Happen On Any Given Night

**Author's Note:**

> I had a conversation about sports RPF and feeling like you're jinxing a season by anticipating success before it happens. I realize this and the prior fic in this series could be along those lines, but honestly, the chances of either happening are very very slim and I'm working with 2014 and not this season. But if that kind of thing bugs you, skip this one. :)

* * *

Hunter's first at bat comes in the first inning. Scutaro's at second, Posey at first with two outs. Hunter's never had very good luck against Greinke and, like an idiot, he swings at something that drops down toward his ankles. He takes the next one, which, of course, curves back right over the strike zone.

Fuck.

Anyone who says he's not thinking about a hitting streak is...well Hunter wouldn't call a guy like Scutaro an outright liar, but still, it's like not thinking about a purple zebra. Hunter's been dealing with it by trying his best to get that day's hit in his first at bat so he can think about the actual game for the rest of it. And anyway, it's not like he could ignore it if he wanted to; the crowd won't let him. They're up on their feet like it's the last inning and they're cheering for the third out.

He ignores the crowd as much as he can and watches the next pitch go by. Fool me once, he thinks as it sinks down below the strike zone. The next pitch looks a little low, but he takes an emergency hack at it and fouls it off. The next ball is high and inside and as he leans back, he wonders if he's being thrown at. Could be, it's the Dodgers, after all. But Brandon's hot right now and he's been protecting Hunter's hitting streak pretty well, so loading the bases for him would be a bad idea. Just an accident, Hunter thinks.

The next pitch is probably an accident too, but Hunter will take it. He slaps at it and it goes right up the middle. Scutaro scores and Posey makes it to third, but Ethier gets to the ball pretty quickly so Hunter pulls up and settles for a single.

The crowd goes batshit and the number thirty-four flashes on the scoreboard and on the displays around the park. Dan Uggla down, Hunter thinks as he and Kelly bump fists. Benito Santiago, I'll get you tomorrow.

Not that he thinks about the streak, he tells the reporters later.

* * *

"Why do we always lie to the reporters?" Brandon asked him the night Brandon had three home runs in a game.

"What do you mean?" Hunter nuzzled the back of Brandon's neck.

"Saying I wasn't thinking about getting a fourth when I came up in the ninth." Brandon squirmed a little and then rolled over suddenly, grabbing at Hunter's wrists and pinning him to the bed. "Such bullshit."

He was straddling Hunter's thighs and Hunter grinned up at him. "Gotta keep to the script. I didn't hear you saying anything about how you love to fuck me silly either."

"Not like that's much of a challenge. You're silly enough as it is."

"Eccentric," Hunter said. He tested Brandon's grip on his wrists, but Brandon just pressed down a little harder. "I'm 'the eccentric Hunter Pence.'"

"Eccentric, silly, quirky...." Brandon leaned down to kiss him. "My Hunter Pence."

"Damn right."

* * *

Hunter next comes up in the third. Pablo's on second and there's one out. The Dodgers are up 2-1 and at the very least, Hunter needs to move Pablo over. For some reason Hunter can't figure out, Ellis and Greinke seem to be really concerned with Pablo. In what universe, Hunter wonders as he takes a third ball, does Pablo Sandoval steal third?

With a three and zero count, Hunter can take the next pitch and Greinke knows it. And Hunter knows that Greinke knows it.

Hunter loves these moments. It's not exactly stress free, but it's pretty close. He's already preserved the streak; the world won't end if he strikes out here; it's early in the game and they're hitting well so they can come back from a one run deficit. He's got a green light. Knowing that, will Greinke risk a strike? Will he try to get cute and nibble a little? Will he and Ellis just decide "fuck it" and decide to go after Brandon even though he walked his last up and is really seeing the ball?

It's all in his head and it's like something from science fiction, all the possible futures stretching out depending on what Greinke throws here and what Hunter does with it. Hunter's mind might going a million miles an hour as it tries to sort everything out, but his body knows what to do when Greinke slings a big fat one over the plate. Here at AT&T with a different right fielder, the line drive up the base path would be a triple. But Puig's got a fucking cannon and as Panda scores, Flan puts up the stop sign and holds Hunter at second.

* * *

"Does it bug you," Hunter asked Brandon one afternoon in late June as they crowd in the elevator with their scooters. "To bat after me when I'm slumping and you're hot?"

"No, why should it?"

"I dunno...."

"I'm streakier than you are," Brandon said. "And face it, the way the line up is right now, I'm in a prime spot to get a shit load of RBIs."

"RBIs don't matter any more."

"I dunno. I bat people in and we win. Seems like it matters to me."

"You're ridiculously old-fashioned."

"I really am." Brandon gave him a look as they made their way into Hunter's apartment. "That's why I'm shacking up with my incredibly hot boyfriend who just happens to be on the same team I am."

Shacking up described it pretty well. Brandon still technically lived in an apartment complex up the street, but he was never home. It turned out that Haylee really was a small town girl; she was miserable every time she was in San Francisco for more than a couple of weeks. All three of them could see the marriage unraveling and there were times when Hunter thought he was more messed up over it than either Brandon or Haylee. Haylee seemed mostly relieved that she could essentially turn Brandon over to Hunter and Brandon was relieved that she was taking it so well.

And Hunter? Hunter felt incredibly guilty at times.

"It's fun to bat you in," Brandon said. "Also, I like the way your butt looks when you bat."

"And when I'm in the shower and when I'm down to my jock and when I bend over the coffee table to grab the remote and...."

"So I like your ass, sue me." Brandon moved into Hunter's space and reached around Hunter to slide his hands into Hunter's back pockets. "Speaking of you bending over...."

Just like that, Hunter's turned on so much he can barely catch his breath. "Where do you want me?"

"Hands on the coffee table."

* * *

The fifth inning is a cluster fuck. In the top of the inning Gaudin drills Kemp in the arm and it's hard to tell if it was deliberate or not. But when Hunter comes up with Posey on second and no outs, there's no doubt Greinke is throwing at him. It misses and he does it well enough that it looks like an attempt to brush Hunter back. But between this and the brush back in the first, Hunter's pissed. He drags the at bat out, fouling off pitch after pitch until he's taken ten pitches. Fuck you, he thinks, glaring out at Greinke. Hunter's not sure if the glare had anything to do with it or if it's strategy called in from the dugout, but Greinke walks him.

And then? He drills Belt in the back.

"You asshole!" Hunter yells as he charges the mound. He's moving so quickly that he takes Mark Wegner and Roberto Kelly by surprise; he's vaguely aware of both umpire and coach sprinting after him but he doesn't care. He's already making a fist because he's going to punch Greinke in his stupid smug fucking face. Or maybe he should body tackle him and _then_ punch him in the gaddam face. 

There's yelling and guys coming in from the outfield and the benches are clearing behind Hunter. He's almost at the mound when Brandon appears in front of him. "Don't," Brandon yells, pushing hard against Hunter until they're chest to chest. Crawford's right with Brandon and he's blocking Hunter too.

"Let me the fuck go," Hunter snarls as Kelly catches up to him and grabs him from behind. "Fucker can't just go hitting you!"

"Don't make me toss you, Pence," Wegner yells.

Both teams are milling around and it's a little more intense than the average baseball fight. Hunter can see Boch yelling at Laz Diaz and Mattingly and a couple of Dodger players are holding Puig back. "Hunter," Brandon says. "Hunter...you've gotta stay in the game."

Hunter takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

"You good?" Kelly asks.

"Still pissed as fuck," Hunter says. "But yeah, I won't...I'm good."

Brandon rests a hand on his shoulder as Kelly and Crawford pull back. "Thanks, by the way."

* * *

"You ever worry that this'll carry over into the game?" Hunter gestured between them. "Or that someone will find out?"

"No," Brandon said. "And yes." He reached out and ran a hand down Hunter's side to his hip. They were both still sweaty from earlier and Hunter wasn't sure why he decided to mess with the lazy, off day, afternoon post-sex feeling.

"No?"

"No. I trust us to be professional, although I might be a little less slumpy out there these days." He went up on an elbow to look at Hunter. "You don't seem to be playing any differently."

Hunter paused to think it over. "No, I guess I'm not."

"But, yeah, I do worry about someone finding out. Although since we've been talking about being friends, I don't think anyone who sees out and around the city will guess.

"I'm not worried about that so much as I worry about the clubhouse," Hunter sighed. "I'm afraid I look at you too much or the wrong way and then I worry that if I avoid looking at you it'll look weird too."

"You think too much." Brandon sighed. "For me it's more...I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing. I mean, it's not like I'm not known for that, but still...."

"If anyone would notice it'd be Bum. He said anything?"

"Not beyond being sympathetic about the thing with Haylee. Francouer say anything to you?"

"Nah. Maybe I'm worrying too much." Hunter knew he could be. Brandon was right; he did think too much.

"I thought...before this, before us, I mean. I was pretty sure you were gay. Guys speculate."

"Yeah, I ran into that in Phillie. That's why the girlfriends."

"You're not hearing me," Brandon frowned at him. "Has anyone said anything? Anyone made you feel like you need to get another girlfriend?"

"No. Okay, I see what you're saying."

"Mostly it's the front office that scares me. Then again...it's San Francisco. Who knows, maybe we'd be a draw."

"Not like we can do anything but be careful."

"Yeah," Brandon said, putting his hand on Hunter's chest. "How careful should I be with these?" He rubbed a thumb across one of Hunter's nipples and Hunter squirmed. Earlier, Brandon had used his fingers and then his teeth, pinching and pulling and biting until Hunter couldn't tell if he wanted more or wanted Brandon to stop. "More" had won out and Hunter had thrown any shred of dignity that he had to the wind and begged for it.

"Jesus...wish I could get hard again."

"We've got the rest of the day, all evening and all night." Brandon smiled that wicked little smile that Hunter loved because it meant Brandon was coming up with something filthy. "I'm sure I can get you to beg a few more times."

* * *

The Dodgers have managed to get a couple more runs in when Hunter comes up in the seventh--the score is 5-4. Greinke's out, so Hunter doesn't have to worry about retaliation for earlier. It's League now and he's having his usual streaky year. Hunter's always seen him well, and it takes all of two pitches before Hunter gets what he wants and slams it hard. In any other park, it'd be gone, but this is AT&T and it's playing large today. Still, it rattles around out near the arches and by the time Puig digs it out, Hunter's in the dirt with his feet planted on the third base bag.

Fuck yeah, he thinks, as he climbs to his feet and knocks the dust out from under his belt buckle. Only one out and he's utterly confident that Brandon can get him home one way or another. As he fist bumps Flan, Flan looks at him a little strangely, but Hunter doesn't think much of it. He must have been making a face as he slid; Flan's hardly the only person who thinks Hunter's faces are weird.

Then Brandon slaps the ball up the middle and it's enough to put him on first and send Hunter across home plate standing up. He gets a fist bump from Crawford and Blanco and there are the usual pats on the shoulder and butt as he makes his way through the dugout. But no one talks to him and he gets more than one strange look.

The hell?

He knows baseball superstition when he sees it but he can't figure this out. He extended the streak back in the first, so it's not that. As he gulps down some Gatorade, he goes back over his game so far--single in the first, double in the third, walk in the fifth and just now a...

Holy fuck. He's in line for the cycle. And more than that, he's in line for a fucking _natural_ cycle. He's not one for historical stats, but he vaguely remembers that a natural cycle is rarer than a perfect game. As usual, his mind clicks into overdrive. What if he comes up in a situation where he really needs to get on base anyway he can so the tying run can come to the plate? Can he be selfish? Today, their last game against the Dodgers for the year, a game that could clinch the division title for them if they win? Oh sure, the Padres are in over the weekend and they suck hard right now, but can Hunter put himself ahead of the team?

Crawford grounds into an inning ending double play and, as Hunter's getting ready to run out to right field, Boch puts a hand on his arm. "Later...just go for it."

* * *

"Are you like, anti-superstitious?" Hunter asked Brandon.

It was mid-September, which is usually nice, but the weather people predicted heavy fog late in the evening, so they went to the park in Brandon's truck. Now, as they tossed their bags in the back, Brandon furrowed his brow a little.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just thinking about Timmy's no no and what I heard you did to Cainer during his perfecto. It's almost like you go out of your way to buck superstition."

"This is because I gave you the streak count right after the game, isn't it?" Brandon snorted and rolled his eyes. "That's not a thing; everyone's talking about it."

"The media, yeah. The fans, yeah. The clubhouse? You're the only one who's mentioned it since it hit ten."

"Really? Huh." Brandon spent a long moment digging his keys out of his pocket and then starting up the truck. By the time they leave the player's parking lot, Hunter's sure the conversation is over.

"Once, in college, a guy was pitching a no hitter. I wasn't paying enough attention and we were sort of buddies, so I sat down next to him and started chatting. Other people in the dugout freaked out, but he got the no no. Told me later, he'd been nervous as fuck and that me acting like it was no big deal helped."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Then, when I was in Richmond, same thing--guy going for a no-hitter. I was paying attention that time and I left him alone. He blew it in the next inning and we lost the game."

"Pretty small sample size" Hunter said.

"Yeah but thing is.... Look, everyone was thinking it during Cain's game and the dugout was all weird and solemn. And it just felt off, like we were making this huge deal out of pretending it was no big deal."

"So you took his spot on the bench."

"Yeah, and I thought Vogey was actually going to haul off and punch me, but it was just the normal roughhousing and then people started talking again. I'm sure if he'd blown it or someone had screwed it up for him, I'd have taken the blame, but in the end, he did it."

"Also you hit a homer in that one and in Timmy's."

"Yeah but really, Timmy's was on him and Pablo and you. Me screwing up the around the horn wasn't really anything."

"You getting that homer was. Gave him a little bit of a cushion."

Brandon nodded, and fell silent; Hunter got the feeling he was a little uncomfortable with the conversation.

Given Brandon's weird habit of picking up conversations hours or even days after they were started, Hunter shouldn't have been too surprised when it came up again.

"Hang on," Brandon said, reaching up to the shower head to untie Hunter's wrists. Hunter, his body still humming from the hard, rough, no lube but water, shower sex, leaned against Brandon while Brandon rinsed him off.

"Does it bug you?" Brandon asked as he helped Hunter to the bed a few moments later. "Me mentioning the streak."

"Huh?"

They were still a little damp, but Hunter didn't mind as Brandon spooned up right behind him. He wrapped an arm around Hunter's waist and pulled him in even closer.

"Me bringing up the streak earlier. Because I can just not talk about it if you don't want to hear it."

"You want me to think now? You just fucked my brains out; they washed down the drain in there." Hunter gestured vaguely toward the bathroom.

"Always knew you kept your brains in your dick."

"Look who's talking, Mr. Kinky Sex Anytime Anywhere. I'm amazed you have time to think of anything else."

"I don't hear you complaining."

"Keep this up, you never will."

"Mmmmm," Brandon's arm went even tighter around Hunter. "For you, yeah."

A little later, when they'd rolled over and Brandon had his head on Hunter's shoulder, Hunter kissed his temple. "I don't mind. I want to talk about it with someone who gets it."

"Okay."

* * *

When Hunter comes up in the ninth....

He remembers thinking this back in late May, when they played that twenty-four inning game and Brandon pitched. This is every baseball movie ever. This is one of the most storied rivalries in all of sports. This game could clinch the division for them. This game is Dodgers 7 - Giants 6. Buster Posey is at first, Angel Pagan at second and Andres Torres is at third. There are two outs. The Dodgers' brilliant rookie closer is on the mound.

Every baseball movie ever, and no baseball movie at all. Because in the baseball movie, he wouldn't look back to see his boyfriend break his game face and give him a grin and a thumbs up. Which is why, he thinks as he turns to face Rubio, this is better than any movie could be.

The first ball looks like it might be the one, but no, Hunter fouls it back. The second one is a genuine scud; Affeldt couldn't have thrown a better one. Pitch number three is close but not close enough. When Diaz calls it a ball, Hunter thinks he might have just caught a break there. So does the Dodger bench, but they're not loud. The game's being played under a warning, after all.

The brawl seems like it happened years ago.

Pitch four is too close to call; Hunter fouls it off. He does the same with pitch number five and gets annoyed with himself for swinging at ball three. He fouls off pitch six and then next pitch, of course, is ball three. Because this is that movie and the bases are loaded and there are two outs and the Dodgers are one out away from winning and the count is 3-2.

Hunter's not thinking. He's just there, backed by his boyfriend and thirty-nine other players and the skipper and a dozen or so coaches and 41,453 screaming, rally towel waving fans. He's dialed in, ready and zen as all fuck. Rubio looks in for the sign and shakes his head. When he does it again, Ellis calls time and goes out to the mound. The boos are deafening.

It should rattle Hunter, but it doesn't. He stands there, waving his bat and moving his front foot up and down.

Here it is. The crowd's even louder and then...it's like he can feel Brandon's gaze on his back. Brandon's got him; Brandon's always got him.

The ball looks like a soccer ball when it leaves Rubio's hand. It's coming at Hunter at 2 miles an hour and it's drawn to the sweet spot on Hunter's bat like there are magnets involved.

Hunter never pimps his home runs. Even when he knows they're out, he drops his bat, always keeps his head down and runs the bases.

This time? This time Hunter flips his bat so that it spins end over end, grins and bugs his eyes out as he passes the visitor's dugout on the way to first. He pumps his fist, slows his trot and tags each base with ostentatious care.

Then...it's a blur. Someone is picking him out and whirling him around and the faces of his teammates are spinning in front of him like he's on a turbo charged carousel. And there's Gatorade and seeds and he's passed from teammate to teammate in a never ending chain of hugs.

Until he gets to Brandon. Later, when Hunter looks at the film from something like 20 different angles, he still doesn't know who started it. And at the time, it didn't matter because he's kissing Brandon and Brandon's kissing him and this...this right here is Hunter's movie moment.

* * *

It's the kiss that made the headlines.

But what Hunter really remembered was that moment after the movie was over and the credits were scrolling. That moment when they stood there holding hands staring at one another, both knowing that nothing would be the same after this.

"You ready for this?" Brandon asked and it was like there's no one there at all, no team, no crowd. It was just them.

"Hey," Hunter said. "Earlier this year, you pitched for the win in a twenty four inning game and got the game winning splash hit. I just hit a grand slam for the fucking natural cycle and got us the run that won the division. I think we're ready for anything."

The noise crashed over them again, the crowd cheering like Hunter had never heard before. And then Posey and Cain and Romo were hugging both of them and Pablo was jumping around them and the team crowded in and someone drenched them in Gatorade (again!) and it wasn't a movie because it was all too real and there was no way this was dream because that Gatorade was really fucking cold.

"I love you!" Brandon yelled into his ear.

Why the hell not? Hunter thought.

Turning his head, he yelled, "I love you too," and kissed Brandon again.

 

_-end-_


End file.
